Dylan has described Shield as his “folk” record (no doubt there’s some sort of pun there considering the connection between "Dylan" and "folk" in the popular consciousness), probably because he is using more plucked guitar (cf. “Clay’s Festering Lungs”) and less tape collage than in past recordings with Prick Decay. But there’s very little in terms of structure or melody that might remind the listener of “folk” per se. If anything, the music that this bears the most resemblance to is that of Southeast Asia, though more in the way of the experimentation of the Sun City Girls or Climax Golden Twins than anything that might be termed authentic. As is suggested in the sleeve notes, this is more reminiscent of “folk music for insects” than anything else: mixed in with the guitar plucking and keyboard tones are alien clicks and squeaks and other audio detritus. At times it sounds like the music was recorded in some antiquated factory, or by a mutant colony of ants, or under some other set of conditions that might produce the organic weirdness contained in this record.

All of which leads us to what seems to be Dylan’s primary concern: the important, but esoteric stuff that your run-of-the-mill noise/experimental types often seem to miss. Vague and oftentimes overlooked notions like warmth and space and emotion are really what’s at stake here. The album jumps from bouts of Gamelan-esque percussive frenzy, to mournful vocal dirges, to sputtering guitar pickings all the while maintaining an air of distant familiarity. More often than not, I’m at a loss to understand how these strange songs were sutured together, but each individual sound feels like I’ve heard it before, no doubt in some vastly different context.

Edition of 300 copies. Handmade chipboard Unipak-style gatefold covers. Silkscreened imagery on front and inside covers, attached with brown butcher's tape. Two 12" three color silkscreened inserts. Bubblegum pink vinyl.